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I lean against the doorframe. “How was the funeral?”
He drops down on the end of the bed and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “It was a funeral. There were flowers and sad people. Your condolences were conveyed with a giant arrangement of flowers to Rose’s family and an even bigger check.” He’s doing his best to stay calm, but his voice rises the longer he talks until it dies suddenly.
“A check, how nice. Impersonal and cold. I wouldn’t expect anything different from you,” I bite out. “I wanted to look her parents in the eyes and tell them how sorry I am. I wanted to see her daughter—”
“To what end?”
That gives me pause. “Excuse me?”
“Even if you had gone, what purpose would it have served? It wouldn’t have made Rose any less dead.”
My mouth flops open and closes a few times. It’s not very graceful, but I’m literally speechless. “How can you be so… so heartless?”
“Because that’s the only way to survive this world,” he snarls, though it doesn’t have his normal dose of venom. “That bleeding heart of yours isn’t going to beat for much longer if you let it break for every sob story you trip over.”
I shake my head and shuffle my feet. There’s too much going on in my head to formulate a response. Misha is impossible to argue with. He lives in another world. Another universe.
Another bedroom.
“Not avoiding me, my ass,” I hiss. “Look at this room. You’re sleeping in here!”
He frowns at the abrupt subject change and looks around the room. “I work late.”
“Bullshit. We both know that if you want to do something, Misha, you do it. If you wanted to sleep next to me, you’d be sleeping next to me. Call this what it is: cowardice.”
“Last time I checked,Paige,you’re the one who wanted separate lives. You willingly moved into the bedroom downstairs.”
“And you moved me back into our bedroom after the explosion,” I remind him.
“That was to take care of you and the babies. To make sure you recovered. It was easier to do when you were in my space. But now, you seem to be fully recovered.”
Before the bomb blast, I thought he was interested in reconciliation. It felt like he was asking me for another chance.
But now…
“You want me to move back downstairs?” I ask softly.
He stands and turns away from me. “I’m fine sleeping in my office. You can stay where you are. I don’t care where I sleep.”
“As long as it’s not with me.”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes. “Is there a reason you followed me in here?”
The truth vibrates through my chest like the ringing of a gong. But I dampen it. “My phone is missing, and I can’t find a landline with a dial tone.”
“Hm. Strange.”
His nonchalance solidifies my suspicions. “Don’t bullshit me, Misha. That’s not an accident. You’re trying to cut me off from the outside world!”
He leans against the edge of his desk and fixes me with tired eyes. I can tell from the circles underneath them that he hasn’t slept properly in days.
I hate how, despite my anger, I still feel for him. I still feel the need to be there for him, to comfort him, support him—to just fuckingtouchhim, for God’s sake.
“The outside world is dangerous for you right now. This won’t be forever.”
“How long? Can you give me a timeline?” When he says nothing, I nod. “Yeah. I didn’t think so.”
“It’s for your—”
